


Fairytale of Santa Barbara

by sebviathan



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Cultural References, Domestic Fluff, Episode Tag, Episode: s05e14 The Polarizing Express, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 16:18:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17206736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: It’s his fifth Christmas knowing Shawn, now, and Carlton has been determined to make it a goddamn good one no matter the circumstances.





	Fairytale of Santa Barbara

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is absolutely in the same universe as [Happy Non-Denominational Winter Holiday, Carlton Lassiter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106277), but like most things I write, it isn't necessary to read that first. there are also references, meanwhile, to the events of [How Lassiter Stole Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9054313/chapters/20598514) \- but an alternate version where those events were canon-compliant and didn't end in explicit romance. i just thought it would be fun to include, along with virtually every other thing i've ever wanted to include in a shassie christmasfic but had yet to do.
> 
> anyway. at its core, this is more or less how I think the events of The Polarizing Express would have gone, had shawn and lassiter been together.
> 
> the title is a reference to the Pogues song _Fairytale of New York_.

December 22nd; evening

 

This scene with the old man in the church always gets him. Somehow even after twenty whole years (and rewatching it nearly every year), he keeps managing to forget that it's coming until the kid is already inside the church, too.

As an adult, now, Shawn frankly  _hates_  that it gets him. He doesn't  _want_ to sympathize with a father who told his own son that he didn't want to see him anymore, regardless of how bad he felt afterward. But he also doesn't want to vocalize that frustration and inevitably launch into a rant that'll only make him more emotional, with Lassie here.

Thankfully, as always, the booby-trapping scene is there to help him deflect.

"I kinda did a Home Alone thing, once," he says, somewhat muffled by the other man's shoulder.

Carlton arches an eyebrow, glancing between him and the TV. "Someone tried to break into your house as a kid?"

"What? Oh, nah, I just wanted to put traps all over my house after seeing the movie. Except the only things I really managed were the cars on the stairs and the paint cans― _which_  also got me grounded because they almost hit my dad when he walked in... Did you know that that kind of force would apparently  _kill_  somebody?"

He sounds genuinely amazed by that fact, at which Carlton smirks and shifts so that they're pressed just a bit tighter together.

"Of course I knew that. Harry and Marv should be dead about ten times over by the time they get arrested. And if all of Kevin's traps had been discovered by the police, he'd have spent some time in a juvenile facility for sure.  _Not_  that he isn't justified―a man has a right to protect his home. Even in Illinois. But the fact that he would essentially attempt murder instead of calling the police shows signs of not only a troubled child, but an entire troubled  _family_ ―and I obviously don't know what DCF was like in 90s Chicago, but I highly doubt that the parents would have gotten away with  _no_  investigation for neglect."

Shawn doesn't always enjoy it when Lassie does this to the movies they watch, but since he's seen this one enough times to be able to recite most of the dialogue and has definitely thought each of those things himself, he deeply appreciates it this time. He can only imagine what Lassie'll have to say about the sequel.

They don't make it to the sequel, however, or even entirely to the end of the first one before―

 

_Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do―_

_Stacey's mom, has got it goin' on―_

 

―before both of their phones start ringing. At the exact same time.

"That's the Chief," Shawn says without needing to look―but as Carlton pauses the movie and checks his own caller ID,

"Mine too. It's a conference call."

It would probably be in their best interests to move to opposite sides of the room so that it won't sound evident that they're together, but a conference call without warning feels like an emergency. So they just answer.

The Chief doesn't give either of them time to say more than a greeting before simply, sharply telling them (all  _four_  of them?) to "turn on channel 23 news  _right now_."

 

*

 

Carlton had never come so close to kissing Shawn right in front of the whole damn SBPD, before. It was all he wanted to do in the moment that news of Czarsky's prosecution was announced, knowing that the hard evidence would never have come about without him. Surely some people could even tell that about Carlton one way or another―he couldn't bring himself to even  _try_  to hide how proud he felt.

He'd almost wished that he didn't have the impulse control to keep him from doing more than beaming and clasping Shawn's shoulders, then. Or that Shawn's own impulses would win out. They'd just won a case that had been in the works for  _months_ , and some public celebratory affection without worries of backlash was the  _least_ they deserved.

It looks like it's for the better that they didn't risk outing themselves, now.

 

_"A spokesperson for the SBPD found it odd that the surveillance footage wasn't submitted earlier in the proceedings. Nonetheless, the decision to throw out Czarsky's case based upon it was unanimous. And―as of just now, KSRP 23 has obtained the video footage in question that led to the mistrial."_

_"Thanks for that report, Katie."_

_"The person seen in the video conducting the unauthorized search is one Shawn Spencer, a psychic consultant for the Santa Barbara Police Department."_

 

By the time the footage of Shawn sneaking through Czarsky's office is over, Carlton has already cycled through just about every emotion that he's capable of. He's beyond anxiety and guilt and dread. He is aware only of the most  _present_  possible facts―that tomorrow will be hectic. That the damage is done, and that it's too late in the day for any time spent in the station to make a difference.

That in spite of his calm expression, Shawn's face has gone white, and his grip on Carlton's hand so tight that he's about to cut off his circulation.

Anticipating that Shawn is seconds away from either cracking a joke or retreating entirely into himself, Carlton abruptly tugs that hand up and stands up off the couch.

"Before we do  _anything_  else," he says slowly, but sternly, "...we both need a drink." .

Shawn snaps his head up and follows his tug at once, nodding in furious gratitude and practically breaking out into a laugh―

" _Good_  idea."

"You know what―how about a good, old fashioned eggnog, hm?" Waiting only for a look of approval, Carlton lets go of him and strides into the kitchen, feeling vaguely as though on auto-pilot as he retrieves each ingredient from the fridge and liquor cabinet.

Then he turns back around to find color  _thankfully_  returned to Shawn's face―but mostly in the form of confusion.

"I thought you said  _old_  fashioned."

"It is," Carlton assures him, while carefully measuring out the rum. "Dates back to the 1800s, at least." And then the brandy. "In the very first  _ever_  cocktail guide." Then wine, and simple syrup. "Older than that, the recipes can only be estimated and they... don't sound that great."

Watching Lassie crack an entire egg directly into the shaker tin doesn't seem too great, either. But watching the muscles in his neck and forearm tighten while he shakes it makes it easy to forget about that, and after the milk and nutmeg it  _does_  look decently appetizing. Then Shawn downs a quarter of it in one go.

" _Oh_  my god, that's―"

"Not strong enough?" Carlton maintains a serious expression while Shawn immediately tears up on the other side of the counter.

"...I refuse to believe that anyone ever really drank this," he croaks out, and sets it down.

Carlton promptly picks it up and downs the next quarter or so, admittedly not enjoying the actual flavors too much, either. He's just a sucker for traditions and they both know it.

And then Shawn takes it back out of his hands and drinks the rest with just the slightest of smirks. A drink's a drink, after all.

"...Nevermind, I think this is the most authentic Christmas Flavor that there actually is."  _If your Christmas is going like_ this _, anyway._

While Lassie takes that as a cue to start mixing up another one, Shawn glances to the half-decorated tree in the corner of the living room and feels an oncoming wave of nausea. He tries to convince himself that it's just the eggnog.

 

*

 

2 days prior

 

"I  _promise_  you, Shawn, none of these trees will have anything living in them. They're not big enough, and even if they were, it's too cold that far north at this time of year."

"Is that why we're driving two whole hours to get it?"

Carlton snaps his head over, but only for a split second before returning his attention to the highway. "You said you thought a road trip would be fun!"

"Hey―I do! Lassie, don't worry. I'm just wondering why we're doing it for a  _tree_  when―wait. Lemme guess, there's some kinda... childhood significance to this particular Christmas tree farm, right?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," he sighs. "I assumed that  _I'd_  be the one to say so first, though, y'know."

But then, considering how long he's known Shawn, he doesn't know why he assumed that.

It's not  _really_  this particular tree farm that he's attached to so much as the rest of the tradition that surrounds it. The long drive there and back, being able to chop down the tree himself, making a whole day of it... It also just  _happens_  that the farm he visited as a kid is clearly the closest place with such high-quality trees growing in the ground instead of pots.

He wouldn't have known that, however, without all the research he did just last night. It's been about seven years since he was last in the mood or even really had the  _chance_  to do this, especially on the exact day that his family always got the tree when he was young... But with Czarsky's arrest came the opportunity to take some days off in celebration. And with how much more open to the holidays that he's felt this year, it was the very first way to celebrate that came to mind.

"It was always, by  _far_  my favorite Christmas tradition while growing up. Catholics make everything so damn boring―and that's a  _generous_  way of putting it. I mean, Midnight Mass might not have been nearly as terrible if I'd been allowed to wear a suit or something, but..." Carlton purposely trails off so as to not burden Shawn with a rant that he knows he's said before, as well as to keep bad shit off of his own mind. "Anyway. It's extremely Pagan, and I don't think they even knew it, which honestly makes it even better. The day before winter solstice, we'd go and pick out a tree, and one of us would chop it down―usually my grandpa, before I got older―and then the wood from last year's tree would be the wood we burned from then until Christmas. Like a yule log, you know? I... actually still have the wood saved from the last year that I did it, which was, uh. The first year that Victoria and I were married."

In a way―in more ancient, spiritual definitions that he has too much dignity (or too little confidence) to say aloud, it makes the past seven years feel like just  _one_ , miserably long year.

He might have done it last year, but he was still easing back into a man who had a reason to enjoy the holidays beyond the movies and TV specials. He was a little afraid, too, of proposing something so domestic and serious as  _picking out a tree_  together. Even this year, he still worded it as  _helping me pick out a tree_.

Meanwhile―they don't  _technically_  live together, but Shawn spends much more downtime with him than at his own place, at this point. So he understands what Lassie means. Or at least hopes that he does.

It's their tree. It's  _going_  to be their tree. And god, it feels so dumb and sappy but just  _knowing_  that alone... feels like it's changed so much for him. He's never felt so excited for Christmas in his adult life. Hell, the fact that Henry would always insist on a real tree has annoyed him his  _whole_  life and yet  _now_  he can't bring himself to think anything of it. Other than, he supposes, that he's going to have to clean up all the pine needles in a week.

But knowing that this is  _also_  Lassie sharing a favorite childhood tradition with him... quite honestly, makes that feel extremely worth it.

 _It's gonna be_ our _fucking tree._

And if he has any doubts about that during the trip, or during the actual tree-picking process, they're gone in the wind the moment that the axe is pushed into his hand.

He frowns at his reflection in the blade, and then arches an eyebrow up at a warmly smiling Lassie.

"You don't want to be the one to chop it down?" Then he lets his expression as well as his voice drop. "Oh shit, did you forget how?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't take you all the way up here just to have all the fun myself." With one hand on Shawn's back, Carlton glances between his face and his grip on the axe and finds both hesitant.  _Huh._  "...Unless  _you_  don't know how? That's fine, I can ghost you."

Hardly a beat manages to skip before Lassie strides behind him and presses his chest to Shawn's back, aligns their arms, slides hands over hands―

"Okay, you were  _way_  too ready to do that," Shawn turns his head to mumble, practically against Lassie's cheek. "And believe it or not, I  _have_  swung many an axe before. Some even know me as The Paul Bunyan of the Coast."

"Mm. Name one."

"I'll have you know that I introduced myself as such to at  _least_  twenty separate patrons of a tourist trap in Santa Rosa before getting fired. Now, as much as I love the idea of getting frisky in freezing temperatures while surrounded by the smell of pine... do you mind?"

"A little bit," Carlton admits lowly, but only pauses long enough to press a kiss to his neck before slinking away.

He then folds his arms while Shawn sizes their tree up, firms up his grip on the handle, angles his shoulders, and  _swings_.

And  _oh_ ―

It's not exactly a thick base, but Shawn gets halfway through it in one go, and Carlton feels the exact rush of excitement that he expected to.

And Shawn can see the shift in his stance and the hungry look on his face.

_Oh._

 

*

 

December 22nd; again

 

They might have finished decorating that thing already if they hadn't gotten distracted with...  _celebrating_  so damn much.

Now it all feels like a waste of time. The entire past two days just made things  _worse_.

At least Shawn knows that his mind could be going to much darker places right now if not for the booze smoothing him over. Lassie has made about four drinks between them with Shawn getting most of it, and he's shaking up yet another one at this moment.

"Hey... I just realized―" Shawn loudly sniffs the top of the refilled mug, practically inhaling the nutmeg―"there's  _alcohol_  in here. You trying to get me  _drunk_  or something, Lassie?"

He of course proceeds to drink without skipping a beat. And Carlton leans over the counter, resting his face in one hand with a fond smile as he watches the drink spill down Shawn's chin and onto his shirt.

"I'm trying to get you tipsy enough to  _sleep_ ," he tells him while he hands him the paper towels. He sees no point not to, now. "So you don't keep yourself up all night trying to fix this."

That takes a second to catch up to him.  _Oh_.

Shawn blinks. "You mean like  _you're_  going to do? ...I don't see you knocking back anymore 'nog."

Okay, maybe there was a reason not to.

"Yeah, because I actually  _can_  fix this," Carlton sighs. "Or I'm at least in the position to try. This isn't just another case to solve, anymore―it's... internal.  _Political_."

"But what about the fact that I  _checked_  for security cameras,  _thoroughly_ , and found none, and yet there's somehow footage? And that it was for some reason submitted in the  _second_  day of the trial? That sounds like a case to me, Lassie."

Okay, maybe Carlton was actually in fact  _a dumbass_  to forget that Shawn was perfectly capable of being both outwardly and internally articulate when drunk.

Neither of them have said anything at all to each other about their predicament since watching the report on the mistrial. They've texted their respective partners as well as Chief Vick with the bare minimum of diplomacy, but nothing further. Everything between only the two of  _them_ , after all, is already out flat on the table. And maybe it's because it's the holidays, or maybe he's just emotionally matured, or maybe it's his guilt over Czarsky, or _maybe_  it's just some innate protective response over Shawn... but he  _needs_  to maintain ease for the both of them right now.

The thing is, Shawn has a point. Although―

_The cameras might have just been hidden in places that Shawn could never have seen. Czarsky could potentially afford CIA-grade equipment. He might also not check his security footage regularly, so it took for one of his goons to notice and bring it to him in the middle of the trial._

All pretty plausible suggestions, but he's not going to say them.

"Even if it  _is_  a case," is what he does begin to say, taking Shawn's free hand in his, "it's not going to get solved by anything you can possibly do tonight. You'll just wind up manic and on zero sleep by the time you talk to Vick tomorrow, which will help  _no one_ , least of all yourself."

Hazy vision aside, Shawn sees the genuine concern in Lassie's face. He's almost surprised that he's been kept from going into a panic entirely―which he  _would_  be, if this was the first or second or even third time that Lassie has simply... known exactly what to do.

He  _is_  grateful, but moreso he's  _frustrated_  that in all this time taking care of him, the man still won't take care of himself!

"...And I'm sure it'll go great when  _you_  look like a zombie while talking to the DA tomorrow, huh?" he mutters, leaning forward until they're inches apart.

That's... another good point. Carlton sighs and almost immediately starts pouring himself a decent nightcap.

 

***

 

As far as he knows, no one but Spencer and Guster are aware that Carlton himself was involved in this botched investigation. That he isn't a mere cog in the SBPD that supposedly "can't control its consultants," but rather, that he  _gave_  Shawn outright permission to do what he did.

He feels guilty for having made that call, now, but not wholly for the reasons that others would expect from him.

 _Obviously_  he wishes that he'd talked Shawn out of the idea now. He doesn't want to be facing these consequences. But Carlton had the exact same fears about the warrant taking too long and Czarsky fleeing as Shawn did. Save for actually somehow  _knowing_  the future?―There's nothing that would have made him decide to simply live with it.

Not after Shawn's proposal, at least.

 

 _"You know what I'm capable of, and you know that this is basically exactly how I've_ been _solving cases this whole time. I spend maybe five minutes in there, tops, all I need to do is get a good look at some... papers, probably... And then I can pretend to have a vision that will_ give _you that warrant. This whole thing will finally be over and Czarsky will be behind bars where he fucking belongs, Lassie."_

 

It did take him some time to think it over. To weigh the risks. To decide that there were  _indeed_  few enough, and that the payout was indeed great enough to be worth it. More or less, it  _was_  as simple as that.

Other than the fact that this absolute fluke is affecting the entire department, it still  _is_  that simple.

Sergei Czarsky is a monster. A serial killer in all but technicality. A destroyer of families and livelihoods to boot. He's the sort of scum that,  _truly_ , would make the world so much better if he was no longer in it. Carlton would have no moral qualms whatsoever  _killing_  him, let alone breaking a few mere written laws in order to put him away.

He's the sort that  _almost_  makes Carlton wish he'd never actually sworn to uphold the written law in the first place―that he'd gone into vigilante justice instead. Luckily (or, it  _was_  lucky), Shawn removes the need for that wish.

 

 _"This isn't just against protocol, this is..._ the _most illegal thing I've ever done. But―okay," he told Shawn, with a resolute nod. "I trust you. Do it. We'll get that son of a bitch."_

 

 _Getting that son of a bitch_  is still the highest point on Carlton's list of priorities. So while it's easily the most guilt-wracking thing about all of this... pretending to the entire department that it's  _not_  far more his own fault than it is Shawn's is something that he has to do.

Even Juliet doesn't know. He doesn't plan to tell her until after the problem is gone, either. She's already openly annoyed at him, "of  _all_ people, not being able to keep your own boyfriend from doing something so irresponsible in such a crucial case." Likely the only thing even keeping her from being  _more_  annoyed is that she believes that Carlton himself is dealing with having been lied to. Her knowing the truth would only put a rift between them that the entire SBPD  _cannot_  afford right now.

At the same time, actively deceiving her at all after how long it took her to officially forgive him and Shawn for the Psychic Lie, and how relatively recently she did so... feels incredibly unfair.

One hell of a rock and a hard place that he's gotten himself stuck between, huh.

Though it's not off-brand for how most of his Christmases have gone.

 

*

 

It's not uncommon at all for Shawn to wake up alone in Lassie's bed. It happens more often, these days, than he wakes up in his own at all.

He certainly isn't  _surprised_  that Lassie would have gotten up early to go to the station and let him keep sleeping. Hell,  _objectively_ , he even feels confident that Lassie kissed him on the forehead or cheek before he left.

But as the memory of last night abruptly comes back to him, as though merely his eyelids were the flood gates... Shawn just feels so  _miserable_  to have been left alone. He can't help it. So he decides to not waste more than a minute or so trying.

At the very moment that he does so, he swiftly bounds out of the bed, finds an un-eggnog-stained sweater to change into along with his jeans and shoes, and heads toward the door. And then stops, and turns around, and grabs a handful of Lassie's homemade gingerbread cookies. And then heads  _out_  the door.

If he's going to be alone, he thinks, he'd rather be alone at the Psych office. Oddly enough, he doesn't anticipate finding Gus already there.

"What are you doing here, Shawn?" is the first thing he hears, instead of any kind of hello. "You have a meeting with the Chief in thirty minutes!"

 _You, and not 'we,' because this is exclusively your fault,_  he can't help but hear with it.

"Picking up some candy canes for the road," he lies easily. Then to make it the truth, he picks a few out of the bucket right by the door and puts them in his pocket along with the cookies. "You know I can't keep any at Lassie's place, one little slip up and he's bloated like Augustus Goop―"

"First of all, it's  _Gloop_. Second, he isn't even the one who gets bloated. That's Violet. And  _third_... I can't do this with you right now," Gus sighs, briefly putting his face in his hands. "...God, I was  _already_  mad at Lassiter for letting you go in that building alone, but  _now_... I swear I'm trying not to be, but I'm so pissed I can't even see straight, Shawn."

He has to try not to flinch upon hearing that. And he'd probably succeed if this was Gus only being mad at  _him_.

"Uh―" Shawn grins mirthlessly and feels a candy cane snap in his grip. "Lassie doesn't have to  _let_  me do anything, Gus. He's not any more in charge of me than you are. I didn't go to him for  _permission_ , I just told him what I wanted to do because believe it or not!―I haven't gone behind his back for a case since I got shot, and I'm not about to start again."

 

 _"If you're not going to listen to_ me _, why not at least listen to your boyfriend? There's no way Lassiter is okay with this." Gus told him, just hours before he broke into Czarsky's place._

_"Actually, not only is he okay with it, but he's going to drive me there himself and wait outside to keep a lookout. He's even lending me a gun in case I need it. I probably won't, but―pretty dope, huh?"_

 

His friend doesn't seem to be in any less disbelief now as he was then.

"...Maybe he didn't have to let you," Gus concedes after a moment with another sigh, "but he didn't have to enable you, either."

" _Enable_  me?" Shawn doesn't hesitate, this time. "He―why is it so hard to believe that he just  _trusts_  me, man?"

"Well, clearly, he shouldn't have! Because now he's helped make the SBPD  _including_  himself look like amateurs, and Psych might be finished. Then again, he  _would_  still get to keep  _his_  job."

Gus gives him a quick, pointed look before starting toward his desk―which is perhaps lucky, because now he can't see Shawn's face twist into near disgust.

"Oh― _come_  on. You can't possibly still think―even if that  _did_  happen, Gus, you  _know_  that Lassie would be trying to help us get hired back. Like how I'm positive that he's working his ass off to fix this with the DA  _as we speak_ ―and like how  _I_  will now go and meet with the Chief, and I  _will_  smooth things over with her. Like I  _always_  do."

Whatever Gus's face looks like before he stomps right back out the door, Shawn can't know for sure. But that's probably lucky, too.

 

*

 

[  _ok so we're on indefinite suspension, but at least it's better than definite suspension, right?_  ]

[  _listen I get that you're pissed and you don't have to respond right now but I -swear- I'm gonna figure something out before shit gets too hairy_  ]

 

So he didn't  _really_  expect that he'd "smooth things over" just by talking, this time. If nothing else, he couldn't just  _not_  trust Lassie when he'd told him that this wasn't something easily fixed.

Maybe he shouldn't have tried to promise anything to Gus before, then. Maybe Gus would have at least given him a courtesy response by now.

Instead, the only person that Shawn has had the chance to talk to since leaving Vick's office is his father, who practically dragged him out of the station and wouldn't let him even try and catch a glimpse of Lassie or Jules on the way― _"I'm sure they're_ plenty _busy out there trying to fix your mistake, Shawn."_

...Part of him  _is_  willing to excuse some of Henry's reactions, on account of him having been fired, too. But it becomes a bit harder to tolerate after about twenty solid minutes of hearing the man rant, especially with so much of it being  _directly_  toward him.

"Dad, you are overreacting," Shawn finally tells him, once inside his house. "I've dealt with this kind of thing plenty of times. Give it a few days―if  _I_  don't figure something out, Lassie definitely will."

He realizes that that may have been a bad idea to say the moment that it comes out of his mouth, but not exactly  _how_  bad until a moment later―

"You know what, Shawn, now that you mention it,  _how_  is it that you can be dating the Head Detective of the SBPD and  _still_  be so careless? It's bad enough that me being your father changed nothing, but goddamn, Shawn... When that relationship falls apart, it will be  _entirely_  your fault. I'm frankly surprised that it hasn't already."

While Henry plops himself down on his old, crusty couch, Shawn stands practically frozen in the archway. His chest and arms erupt in a heat so fierce that he's afraid to move.

He blinks.

" _Huh_ ," is all he says, pursing his lips. "Okay."

Anyone who's known Shawn his whole life should know what such a short response from him means. Knowing  _Henry_ , though, Shawn's still surprised that it only takes about ten seconds for him to look apologetic. However minutely.

"Okay―" Henry sits up straighter and sighs. "That was too far, and I'm sorry. I'm not gonna pretend that I understand you and Lassiter―"

"Or  _anything_  about me, really," Shawn almost laughs.

"...But  _honestly_ , Shawn. Sometimes I can't help but wonder how much less chaotic all our lives would be if you'd just stayed  _wherever_  the hell you were and not come back to Santa Barbara five years ago."

_Wow._

Shawn would like to believe that he's too old and too hardened to get hurt by a few words, least of all from his dad. Sticks and stones and all that.

He'd sure  _like_  to. But that's difficult when even just the colors in the room around him have suddenly become a lot bleaker.

"Wow," he repeats aloud, not caring to pay any attention to Henry's face anymore. "...Maybe you're right. Maybe I shouldn't have come back."

 

***

 

God, it sure has been a while since Carlton last had to worry so much, for even just a few minutes, that Shawn has gotten himself into trouble. He almost forgot what that sort of relief (this time, at the sight of Shawn's motorcycle outside of the Psych office) and subsequent anger even  _felt_  like.

Of course, the anger fades instantly upon slamming the door open and finding his boyfriend passed out in a chair, unaffected by the noise. The only light source in the room being the TV right in front of him, which... appears to be playing the Czarsky footage on a loop. Carlton feels his heart drop into his stomach and strides across the room.

"Shawn! Oh―jeez, you fell asleep like  _that_? Your neck's gonna be sore as hell later... Shawn, hey, wake up.  _Shawn_ ―"

As soon as Carlton puts a hand on his neck, Shawn's eyes shoot open, and he mumbles something that sounds like,

" _But Gus has both balls, I've seen 'em._ "

Carlton frowns and bends down closer. "What?"

Then Shawn jolts into full consciousness, catching at first only a silhouette that it takes him a second to understand is―

"Lassie? What... what're you doing here?"

"You weren't answering your phone," he says, straightening back up and letting himself breathe out all the excess worry. "I even tried calling Guster―he said he'd barely talked to you today. He also... didn't sound very happy with  _me_ , either, but I suppose I can't blame him..."

As he watches Lassie trail off and avert his eyes to the floor, Shawn blinks rapidly and wakes up further―and in doing so, assumes that this is urgent.

" _Wait_." He pulls on the other man's hand to stand himself up. "Did something happen? Did you get―?"

"Oh― _no_ ," Carlton is quick with assuring, along with a sharp, self-deprecating laugh.

No, he's been at it all day and neither he nor Juliet got any headway in getting Internal Affairs to calm. _Or_  in finding a new Czarsky lead―but he didn't expect that they would, anyway. Not in one day, after nearly four months of work amounted to the evidence they originally convicted him with.

Years ago, he would have been staying overnight at the station in a situation like this. He'd have twelve cups of coffee in his system instead of three, and he'd be pouring over all-but-irrelevant case files just to feel like he was doing  _something_. He'd refuse to go home, even with others urging him to, until it was fixed.

But tonight it was him and  _not_  Juliet, crazily enough, who first mentioned that the likelihood of making progress at this point in the day is slim to none. That it's been fourteen straight hours, almost. That there won't be any new political developments to combat until at least tomorrow. That getting some rest  _now_  will surely help them think straight by then.

She agreed, of course, though still clearly irritated. Nevertheless, she also told him to make sure that "you  _both_  get some sleep."

And he absolutely does intend to. Just not yet.

"I... actually had something planned for tonight. From a few days ago, before... this situation happened, and―" Carlton pauses, catching a bewildered look from Shawn. But he's probably just still disoriented. "...And quite frankly, I don't see any reason why I can't go ahead with it, so. You up for a bit of a drive?"

 

*

 

The  _Santa's Village_  in Solvang is about two hours from closing for the year, as tomorrow is Christmas Eve. So naturally, it's still buzzing with a decent amount of families who want to milk their time as much as they can.

Shawn and Lassiter aren't the only childless couple in the whole village, but they probably  _are_  the only one outside the petting zoo.

"Hey pal, if you're too ashamed to pet some animals without a child next to you, that's  _your_  problem," Carlton has to snap at a father who's giving them dirty looks.

Shawn has to hold back a giggle.

"Uh... yeah, Lassie, I don't think  _that's_  why he was looking at us like that."

"...Oh. Well. Either way."

Shawn's mood has made  _quite_  the turnaround from before he fell asleep, and even from the ride up here. They spent most of it relaying how their respective days have been, and Shawn felt guilty just doing that, knowing how much more  _actual_  work Lassie certainly had.

At the same time, giving an unbiased recounting wasn't very possible for the latter half.

He couldn't even bring himself to repeat Henry's words.

 

" _You remember last Christmas, when he was like, refusing to believe that we were actually together, and you went off on him before I even could?"_

" _Of course I remember." Lassie smiled. "_ Very _fondly. Oh_ ― _the going off on him part, not... yeah."_

" _Well... it was like that. But worse. And then he said he wondered what it would be like if I'd never come back to Santa Barbara, which I guess is why I started dreaming about Tony Cox dressed as Paul Bunyan taking me through the alternate timeline where..._ that _happened. You woke me up right in the middle of me watching Gus's life as a horrible 90s sitcom."_

 

Shawn doesn't know how much he really believes that  _his_  presence specifically prevented Gus from having that miserable-but-vaguely-entertaining lifestyle. Or that it's only thanks to him that his father isn't more visibly pathetic and living in trash and for some reason drinking out of an industrial-sized carton of skim milk.

At the moment, however, being able to pet a  _reindeer_  kind of makes him feel like none of that matters.

That is, he's distracted from the bad feelings as long as the thoughts in particular don't reach him. And those thoughts can't reach him when Lassie is occupying them, intentional or otherwise, and... mainly with fun facts.

"You know, all of these reindeer are female.  _And_  all of Santa's reindeer, for that matter, because they all have antlers in the wintertime, which male reindeer don't do. But everyone who ever wrote anything about Santa's reindeer probably wasn't aware of that because reindeer are in fact the  _only_  species of deer whose females can grow antlers at all."

"Damn, Lassie. Next you're gonna tell me that reindeer can't fly."

" _Actually_ , in the poem that first made reindeer a popular part of Christmas, they're described as 'miniature'― _along_  with Santa and his sleigh, by the way, so... Clearly, they're enchanted to begin with."

"Hold on... you're telling me that Santa Claus is supposed to be  _tiny_?" Shawn notices in his peripheral that most of the families here seem to be either avoiding them or giving them odd looks, particularly the man from before. He couldn't care less if he wanted to. "Isn't his whole  _thing_  that he's fat?"

"Oh, that's just the one poem," Carlton clarifies. He begins to notice the same thing and  _definitely_  doesn't care, as it only makes it more likely that they'll get inside the pen sooner. "The Santa legend existed for a good fourteen-hundred years before then, and only really started to evolve from the original _patron saint of children and gift-giving_  thing  _with_  the poem."

This is by no means the first that Shawn is hearing of Lassie's deep knowledge and passion for the history of Christmas. He's gotten a decent taste of it throughout this December as well as the last.

Even so...  _even_  aside from how some of these facts are turning his world upside-down, Shawn continues to find himself absolutely amazed. It's one of those things about Lassie that he just  _never_  would have guessed prior to dating him. In hindsight, though, it seems almost obvious. Of course Lassie has that passion. Of  _course_  Lassie loves a holiday with so much history behind it. Honestly, why  _didn't_  Shawn realize that Lassie only ever seemed to hate it because he had no one to spend it with?

It makes feel honored, to be one of the few allowed to witness it.

The reindeer specifically, though―it really should be no surprise whatsoever that Lassie is even more excited than he is about them.

"So this is a subset of your horse thing, right?" Shawn asks, watching the shine in his boyfriend's eyes when he finally gets to feed one.

"Reindeer are actually more closely related to whales than they are to horses," Carlton responds damn nearly without thinking. He can't help it, he's just in that groove. "...But yes."

It goes without saying, Carlton thinks, that he didn't plan this  _just_  for himself, though. He knew that Shawn would love it before anything bad had happened, and tonight, he knew that Shawn would  _need_  it.

What he didn't know was that Shawn would be affected far more by  _his_  presence than the reindeer's.

Because all the while that Lassie's info-dumping distracts him, it also steadily gets him more and more emotional in a way that he can't explain. It isn't until he's on the literal verge of tears that he even realizes what's been happening at _all_ , that―

That everyone else in this petting zoo, save the staff, is gone. They all left, and Shawn was too busy focusing  _exclusively_  on Lassie to notice.

He didn't even notice that in the time since everyone else left, all four of the reindeer have gathered around the man he was looking directly at. Two eating directly out of his hands, and two practically nuzzling at his legs.

Shawn abruptly squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his face and shakes his head. Just to make sure he's not seeing things.

"...You okay?"

" _Lassie_ , you―" He rubs his eyes one more time. It's all still there. "You look like... something out of a fairytale or something right now, I swear."

"Oh, huh." Carlton didn't realize until now what the scene quite looked like, either. He lets out a breathy laugh. "...Must be my musk."

Whatever it is, suddenly all that Shawn can think of is how much he fucked up―how getting suspended and having Gus and his dad so pissed at him are entirely his  _own_  fault, and  _yet_... Lassie has been here for him. Lassie's been doing nothing but trying to  _help_  him, and maybe it's a bit because Shawn's still tired but here he is now looking like some kind of Disney princess, or like a literal Young Kris Kringle, and  _really_ , in spite of his Krampus sweater, like a fucking  _angel_ ―

Carlton doesn't see it coming until Shawn's hands are already on either side of his face, but he's just as ready to melt into his kiss as ever.

Then he thumbs over Shawn's cheeks and finds them wet.

 

*

 

His first Christmas knowing Shawn was a case that Carlton thinks about at least once a month. It's hard to even dwell on how much he was overshadowed when it was also one of the most interesting murders he's ever dealt with― _death by sharpened candy-cane_. And even more memorable than _that_... Shawn actually, albeit briefly held his hand while they were more or less on a date at that Christmas fair during that case.

And Carlton still proceeded to not  _dare_  imagine that Shawn felt anything positive for him... for the next two and a half years. Every time he thinks about it, now, he has to laugh at how stupidly oblivious he was for so long.

The second Christmas, sure, he'd been made extremely bitter by Shawn gifting him something that he knew for a fact was a serious fear of his. But Shawn earned his forgiveness and more by the time that Christmas was officially over, that year. His "real gift" still has a significant place on his shelf.

The third Christmas with Shawn was also his  _first_ since separating from Victoria that Carlton had actually gone to his mother's house for the holidays. He only even did so because Lauren was visiting and he'd wanted to see how she was doing―as expected, just  _barely_  worth it. That Christmas was nothing but arguing, awkward silences, and uncomfortable questions that he'd  _known_  were coming and wanted nothing  _less_  than to answer. Particularly, about his love life.

In response to that, he'd thought (honestly, a little too much) about the idea of trying to bring Shawn home for the holidays. He was positive even then that he'd only have had to approach him and say some form of,

_"Hey, Spencer, how would you like to pretend to be my date so I can piss off my mom?"_

Sometimes he wishes that he'd gone through with that idea, as they'd likely have gotten together sooner. But he couldn't possibly have known that or even had the confidence to believe it, back then. And what Shawn actually  _did_  for that Christmas―solve a case that gave Carlton an excuse to not only get away from his mother on Christmas evening, but also the chance of a  _lifetime_  to get in some good Christmas-themed one-liners during an arrest... was so much better, anyway.

Then last year's was the first Christmas that they were together. The first Christmas in years that Carlton woke up to someone and fell asleep next to someone. That he didn't spend even one second of in the SBPD building. That he truly enjoyed for reasons entirely unrelated to his job.

And before all of those, he's always had a complicated relationship with the holiday season. So many of the typical traditions are anchored in bad memories. In loneliness, and neglect, and a mint allergy.

It's not that he was never able to make his own Christmas and make it a good one before Shawn, or even necessarily that all of his halfway decent Christmases have been explicitly connected to romance. What it  _is_ , is that for every year that Carlton has known him, Shawn was a primary reason that he could even slightly enjoy the holidays. Shawn has continuously helped him see hope and  _want_  to be happier, whether he knew it at the time or not. Whether he even knows it now.

It's his fifth Christmas knowing Shawn, now, and Carlton has been determined to make it a goddamn good one no matter the circumstances. He is at this moment especially determined to  _not_  watch Shawn be in distress.

Though, possibly due to his own insecurities, it takes him about halfway into the drive back home to begin to tell him,

"You know, if you'd never come back to Santa Barbara..." He vaguely catches Shawn's head perking up. "...I can tell you that Czarsky probably never would have been caught in the first place. And instead of being here,  _I_ would be coming home right now to a miserable little apartment, probably  _still_  hanging onto a marriage that only existed on paper―maybe even facing a restraining order at this point..." Carlton sighs, feeling a wave of shame over his past behavior. "Detective Barry...  _might_  have stuck around, for a little bit. But I can't imagine our fling would've gone anywhere serious. And to top it all off, I wouldn't even have O'Hara for company. I'd―not to get  _dark_ , but quite honestly, Shawn... I'd be staring out the window of that miserable apartment and drinking myself into a stupor about now, had you never shown up here."

Shawn has gone momentarily blind behind the tears that have welled up. He tries to blink them away, feeling like an idiot for how emotional he's been today―

But then he fully processes Lassie's words, and they act like the key to a mental door that's been frustratingly locked all day. All at once, the tears seem to have just sucked themselves back in. His hand darts out for Lassie's shoulder.

"Oh my god. I _was_  right about there being no cameras in Czarsky's place."

Carlton nearly impulsively slams his foot on the breaks.  _Nearly._  "What are you talking about?"

"That footage was shot from the  _outside_ , Lassie. From someone else's window."

 

***

 

It took a night of staking out the building across from Czarsky's, and regardless of their naps taken in turn they still came out of it fairly tired, but now they have him. The guy who  _actually_  turned in that footage.

Turning in some footage of an illegal search isn't an arrestable offense, of course, no matter how much it inconvenienced justice. But building a bomb and conspiring to kill someone  _is_. No matter how sincerely even Carlton might believe that it's justified.

Meanwhile, Juan Lava doesn't resist arrest. He doesn't say a single word on the ride to the station, either. He won't answer the most basic questions about his identity. He'll barely even gesture. He speaks exactly once while in custody, and it's to snap " _I speak English, assholes,_ " when Juliet tries to act as a translator.

After that, she and Carlton only have to share a single glance to agree that it's time to bring Shawn in.

It shouldn't be a surprise, now that they've not only discovered that it was a third party who took the incriminating footage but _also_  that Shawn is solely to credit for this new break in the case... but Juliet's annoyance with both of them seems to be all but gone, too. She's as eager as he is to sneak Shawn under IA's nose and into the interrogation rooms, and to hand all of Juan's background information right over.

"You  _do_  have a knack for picking people apart emotionally and putting them through the emotional equivalent of a cheese grater," she tells him, repeating words that Lassie has almost certainly said before.

And with Juan Lava, it takes truly very little for him to do so. His story is a rather cliche one, in fact―good, hard-working man's love interest is killed by an evil, criminal man, so good man immerses himself in a revenge plot that takes over his life. Shawn sympathizes, naturally. He takes no issue with a man like Czarsky being killed, not even painfully. He does, however, hate very much to see a man like  _Juan_ , who has already suffered so much, go to prison for an act of genuine justice. On Christmas Eve, no less.

So it's both a disappointment  _and_  great relief to realize that Czarsky isn't scheduled to blow up for another three hours.

 

*

 

Disarming a bomb was a hell of a lot to ask of Gus after all that Shawn put him through, and he knows it. Even  _with_  an apology over the phone, a promise that the case would be fixed, and backstage passes to Ralph Tresvant on the table.

But Gus  _did it_. Which alone is enough for Shawn to practically fall over with relief that their friendship  _wasn't_  irreparably damaged, that Gus still trusts him, that Gus still wants to do Psych with him...

Funnily enough, the only thing that keeps Shawn from breaking down into a longer, more detailed apology the very next  _moment_  that he is able, is that Gus does so first. Or he starts to.

"Listen, Shawn, I was a lot harsher than I needed to be―"

"What?  _No_ , dude...  _I'm_  the one that should have just listened to you in the first place. Lassie wouldn't have ever suggested it on his own―this was all me, neglecting to think of how my actions would affect all the people I love, and... I  _will_  always listen to you, from now on."

Gus grimaces. "No, you won't."

"...I'll spend more time thinking about it anytime I want to go directly against something you've said?"

"I'll take it!"

And Gus rushes forward to briefly squeeze the life out of him―though he might have kept the embrace going if there weren't upwards of fifty onlookers. Shawn himself almost forgot where they were and what they were waiting for.

" _For_  the record, Shawn," his friend continues with a guilty look, clasping him on both arms, "...I do recognize that sometimes, your judgment  _is_  better than mine. Yours and Lassiter's. Anything I said before, I  _promise_  you I didn't mean, I―"

"Gus, it's okay―"

"Hold on, I  _need_  you to know that... I swear, I don't hate Lassie. I love him, because  _you_  love him, and by proxy I do trust him. Maybe not always as a cop, but definitely as a  _person_ , and as it generally concerns the four of us... I think that wins out."

That really is _so_  good to hear, if not overly sentimental.

Shawn is similarly grateful that, by virtue of Lassie and Juliet escorting Czarsky out of the building just a few moments later, he's cut off from responding with yet more absolute  _mush_.

 

*

 

_Wow._

For all the time that Carlton spent working toward being able to put Czarsky in the back of a police car, and all the grief he went through in making sure it happened again... he can barely bring himself to bask in the moment.  _All_  he wants to do... is look at Shawn.

The meat of this, truly, has  _been_  Shawn. Now more than ever. Who else could rally up a whole neighborhood like that? Who else could stand up on the hood of a car and convince a group of terrified victims to band together and testify against such a dangerous man... through  _words_  alone? Who else could have such a powerful sense of empathy and such  _pure_  connection to other people? Who else could act out a scene that's only ever happened in movies and make it  _work_?

Carlton doesn't think that he's ever felt such profound admiration for Shawn, before. Or for anyone else.

"Wow," he beams and repeats to himself, practically in a whisper. "...I love him so goddamn much."

Beside him, Juliet snaps her head over at once. He does the same and catches her amused grin―and finds it widening at the same rate that his face grows hot. And he stands his ground, not wanting to appear embarrassed because he  _isn't_ , because it would be stupid if he wanted his feelings to be a secret from  _her_  of all people because she's his  _partner_  and the only person who knows more about his relationship with Shawn  _than_  Shawn―

And she spares him by saying nothing, but instead approaching his boyfriend herself.

"Hey―Jules," he starts immediately when he notices her, "before you go off on me, I wanna tell you... I'm so sorry for fucking with your holiday like this. I wasn't thinking about you when I made that mistake and I really should've been, so―"

" _Shawn_ ," she stops him, holding a hand up and still wearing a grin. "...Carlton already explained everything."

His eyebrows shoot upward. " _Oh_."

"Mm. Just promise me that you'll involve me in the decision the next time you want to break one of the bigger laws, and we're good."

Carlton gives him an awkward smile and a short wave from a few feet behind her, just then. Shawn returns it, then looks back to Juliet and gives her that promise.

And before she and Lassie have to head back to the station for all the formal work, Shawn makes sure to get one last thing in:

"Oh, out of...  _curiosity_ , by the way... I can give you context later, but. What d'you think you'd be doing right now if I hadn't come to Santa Barbara when I did and inadvertently opened the gates for you to transfer here? Think you'd be policing the mean streets of Miami or something?―Maybe taking down some Cuban drug cartel?"

He folds his arms and raises both eyebrows again in anticipation, honestly a lot more excited to finish this puzzle than he thought he'd be. Juliet takes less time to answer than he expected, meanwhile.

"Well... you know that I  _already_  wanted to transfer to Santa Barbara because my family lived here, right? And because of Scott?" She furrows her brow at him in a way that makes his own expression wipe itself clean. "Yeah, I'm, uh... pretty sure that I'd have just figured out some other way to get here sooner or later. At the worst,  _maybe_... I'd be working in Lompoc or some other nearby city, or something."

"...Oh. Huh. I guess that... makes sense."

She takes pity on him and says nothing further, except,

"Merry Christmas, Shawn."

 

*****

 

"With a good few hours before Christmas to spare, too," Carlton announces, checking his watch over Shawn's shoulder as they stumble inside together.

Arms still around each other's waists, they both immediately look to their unfinished tree in the corner. And then at each other. Without a word, there's already no question of how they're going to spend the rest of Christmas Eve.

While it shouldn't take  _that_  long to simply hang up tinsel and ornaments, they can both wholly expect to once again be periodically distracted. That is, by Christmas-related discussion (likely continuing the one about to what extent it remains ethical to actively lie to your children about Santa Claus), whatever movie they decide to put on in the background, and  _of course_ , simply, each other. Factoring in that last one especially, they may very well not even finish the tree before midnight. The thrill of putting criminals away is... one hell of a drug.

"You think the SBPD choir'll still be singin' Galway Pray tomorrow morning?" Shawn says, nodding toward the clock with a box full of decorations in his arms.

"The SBPD doesn't _have_  a choir. And it's Galway  _Bay_."

Shawn shrugs. "I've heard both galways."

Not only does the cleverness of that one honestly make Carlton  _angry_ , it also gives him an idea and sends him directly to his stereo―maybe it isn't all  _technically_  Christmas music, but that Pogues album will still fit the mood as far as he's concerned.

As for Shawn, whose chest is growing warm by the second, he very quickly decides that he'd prefer to listen to Lassie sing along to any songs at  _all_  than movie dialogue.

At least  _right now_  he would. Right now, during their time with  _their_  tree... with yet another thing that only Shawn is privy to. Anyone can watch a damn movie. And that can only really get better, the more people you have to share the experience with, doesn't it.

" _Hey_." Shawn is careful to wait until an instrumental break.

Carlton peeks around the tree with a nutcracker in each hand.

"...I already know Gus is down, but do you think Jules would be too busy to come over and watch Die Hard with us tomorrow?"

**Author's Note:**

> this feels extremely weird to post after christmas day, but after finishing such an exhausting project as the [How Lassiter Stole Christmas picturebook](http://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/181234985036), i say i'm justified in being a little late. i just couldn't let this be my first christmas in 4 years that i DIDN'T write a shassie christmasfic.
> 
> for anyone who doesn't recall, lassie being a nerd about Christmas Lore is canon and present in the s2 christmas episode. and all the facts that he infodumped to shawn are 100% true! the old-fashioned eggnog recipe (the baltimore eggnog) is also accurate, though i haven't personally tried it. 
> 
> conversely, please suspend your disbelief in regards to shawn cutting down a fir tree with an axe - i realized how ineffective that would be after i'd already written most of the scene, and i couldn't bear to change it.
> 
> lastly, if anyone caught it - the line about lassiter not having been allowed to wear a suit to midnight mass was 100% intended to allude to him being trans! because he is! merry christmas!
> 
> recommended listening: psychmas 2018 playlist on [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/captainlucifer/have-yourself-another-psych-christmas) / [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpO1ETfG6QGbPMfnXQ6kXiRKn7TcHHfMc)


End file.
